


Tangled

by Lbilover



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pre-Quest, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: Frodo has a small problem and asks for Sam's assistance in handling it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Illustration by the lovely Aina Baggins.

Tugging on the laces one-handed was Frodo’s first mistake. Instead of loosening the bow he’d tied at the base of his spine (with some difficulty and a fair measure of pride), he caused it to snarl and form a knot. 

“Sticklebacks!”

Frodo bit his lip and twisted his arms behind his back so that he could get both hands on the laces the way he should have the first time, and tried to unpick the knot. But his nails were too short to make any headway, especially since he couldn’t see what he was doing, and all he accomplished was to make matters worse by pulling the knot tighter than it already was.

He struggled with the laces for some time, even going so far as to stand with his back to the cheval glass so that he could see them by craning his neck around and looking over his shoulder. The sight of his reflection was enough to cause a flush of embarrassment to mantle him from head to toe, but it was impossible to avert one’s eyes _and_ try to focus on untying a knot at the same time. 

By the time Frodo finally admitted that he’d been outsmarted by a knot, he was sweating, and had used up his entire supply of curses in both the common tongue and Elvish. Frodo considered simply tearing the cloth and having done with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to damage the fine white velvet, however much he would like to. He had promised to wear the outfit in two days’ time, and it wasn’t the sort of thing one could easily replace.

The answer to his dilemma was clear, but Frodo cringed at the very idea. When one had been working up the nerve for weeks to let a hobbit know how one felt about him, the last thing in Middle-earth one wanted was to appear ridiculous before him, and perhaps dash one’s hopes forever. And Frodo knew that right now he looked about as ridiculous as a hobbit could look. 

Why, why, why had he allowed his cousin to talk him into this?

Outside the bedroom window, the tuneful whistling of Samwise Gamgee and the rhythmic clacking of his trimming shears could be heard, and the sounds were growing gradually louder and closer. Rescue was near at hand, and only a coward, Frodo lectured himself sternly, would consider crawling under the bed and never coming out, or perhaps putting on Bilbo’s ring, and asking Sam to untangle the knot while Frodo remained invisible. 

Suppressing a moan of humiliation, Frodo went to the window to call Sam. But he was careful to stand well to one side, shielded by the curtains, so that, even without a magic gold ring on his finger, he would not be visible. 

***

_Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack._ Sam kept up a steady, easy rhythm with the shears as he moved gradually around the edge of the flowerbed on his knees, trimming the lush grass. He whistled as he worked, one of Mr. Bilbo’s songs, a cheerful tune that suited the fine June day with its cloudless sky and bright sunshine. There was only one thing that could make the day any brighter, Sam thought, but resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at the round window so temptingly close. 

No, he would not give in to temptation. He would continue his neat, orderly progress around the verge, the way his father had taught him. Eventually he would work his way round to the front of the smial, and if he was lucky Mr. Frodo, hearing the sound of Sam’s shears, might come to the window of his study or even (as on one memorable occasion) his bedroom, and lean out to speak to Sam. 

Not that Frodo ever had very much to say when he did, mind. Just simple things such as ‘how are you this morning, Sam?’ or ‘how is the garden faring, Sam?’ or ‘how is your Gaffer feeling today, Sam?’ 

It didn’t really matter, though. It was enough to see the sparkle in those changeable blue eyes, enough to hear his name fall softly from those rose-tinted lips. Enough to admire the sheen of dark curls reflecting the sunlight like polished walnut, enough to store in his heart the vision of that slender figure surrounded by the flowers Sam had painstakingly trained to grow like a living frame for his master’s beauty.

But Sam’s innate honesty would not, after all, permit of such a plumper, even in his private thoughts. _Liar,_ said a little voice inside him. _’Tis not enough and well you know it. What you_ really _want is for him to stop talking, hold out his hand to you and pull you right over the window sill and into his arms, and then…_ A delicious little shiver raced through Sam’s body at the very idea; heat pooled in his stomach, and then travelled lower. Unconsciously the pace of his trimming increased to a rapid _clackclackclackclack_ as the scene, one he had imagined many, many times, played out in his mind. 

As if the thought had been father to the deed, at that precise moment Sam heard his name being called. 

“Sam?” 

Only one hobbit pronounced Sam’s name that way, lingering slightly over the ‘a’ so that it felt to Sam as if he was being stroked, like a cat maybe, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if he started to purr any moment. Frodo’s voice was coming from the direction of his bedroom today, not from his study, and Sam quickly set aside the grass-stained shears and looked in the direction of that tempting, flower-bedecked window. He hoped he didn’t appeared _too_ eager. 

But to his surprise, the window in question was completely devoid of blue-eyed hobbits with sensuous voices, as was every other window in the smial that he could see from his vantage point. 

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam called hesitantly, wondering if perhaps he had allowed his fertile imagination to run away with him, as it was apt to do when Frodo was its subject. 

“I’m in here, Sam,” came the reply, but still there was no sign of Frodo.

“Where is ‘here’, sir?”

“My bedroom. I was wondering, Sam, if- if you might come inside and give me some assistance. I have an, um, small problem, you see, and I can’t handle it by myself.”

_Assistance… small problem… handle it…_ A sort of fog seemed to muffle Sam’s brain; he temporarily lost all capacity for speech and movement. 

“Sam?” Frodo repeated more loudly, “Are you coming?” He sounded rather anxious.

“Right- right away, sir, Mr. Frodo sir.” Sam almost fell over his own feet in his haste to rise. Duty in the guise of Frodo Baggins was calling, and whatever assistance Frodo might need with his ‘small problem’, Sam Gamgee was ready and willing to provide it. 

***

The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar. Heart hammering so loudly that he feared his Gaffer would turn up any moment and demand to know what the racket was, Sam rapped on the wooden doorframe with his knuckles, and called softly, “Mr. Frodo?”

He heard a profound sigh, and then Frodo said, “Come in, Sam.” Frodo sounded resigned rather than encouraging, and Sam’s hopes plummeted. That was what he got for allowing his imagination to run away with him. 

Sam eased the door open a trifle, and hesitated. This was by no means the first time he had entered Frodo’s bedchamber in the course of his duties about the smial, but it was the first time he had entered it while Frodo himself was also present. Sam suddenly had the odd fancy that he was inside one of Mr. Bilbo’s verses, the ones where you went out your front door and stepped onto the Road, only to be swept off your feet with no knowing where you might land. 

Well, there was only one way to find out where he’d land. Heart still thrumming, Sam pushed the door wide and stepped across the threshold.

And halted dead in his tracks, gaping with astonishment, for there in the center of the room stood a giant white rabbit. A rabbit with a pair of tall, upstanding pink ears and the most enormous feet Sam had ever seen. 

The rabbit looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. His cheeks were a brighter pink than his ears, and his hands, the only parts of him besides his face that weren’t covered by the velvet costume, were twisted together in front of him, gripping and ungripping convulsively.

“M-Mr. Frodo, you’re wearing a bunny costume,” Sam stammered idiotically, as if Frodo could possibly be ignorant of the fact. 

Frodo closed his eyes briefly and opened them again. “Sam,” he said with as much dignity as the circumstances would allow. “I am well aware that I am wearing a bunny costume.”

Sam flushed red. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

“As it happens,” Frodo went on, “I do not wish to be wearing a bunny costume. It is, in fact, my deepest, most earnest desire to rid myself of this bunny costume.”

“Well, sir, then you ought to take it off,” said Sam, and flushed even deeper as he realised what he’d said. Oh, he was making a proper mull of things, and no mistake.

“If I could take the costume off, I would, of course,” replied Frodo with exaggerated patience. “But unfortunately I cannot. That is why I need your assistance, Sam.”

“Oh.”

“The laces have got tangled, you see, and I can’t undo them because they are at my back.” Frodo shuffled awkwardly around in his giant bunny feet until he was presenting his back for Sam’s inspection.

Sam stared. But it was not the tangled laces that riveted his attention. It was what lay directly below them: a tail. Mr. Frodo had a bunny tail, a large fluffy white bunny tail that was positioned right at the point where the base of his spine met the swell of his pert buttocks. Sam wasn’t sure what it said about him that he found the sight of his employer sporting a bunny tail arousing, but the plain truth was he did. He found it incredibly arousing.

And that wasn’t the only arousing aspect of the costume, either. Though he’d managed not to stare too obviously, he’d noticed at once that the bunny costume was a tad too small for Frodo (him being taller than most hobbits). It pulled taut in certain areas and emphasised his attributes, front and rear, in a manner that was causing Sam’s own attributes to respond and make his own clothing seem too tight. 

“Y-you want me to- to un-untangle them?” Sam’s voice rose, and even broke slightly, something that hadn’t happened in many a year.

“Yes, that’s right,” Frodo responded, still with that air of exaggerated patience, as if he was dealing with someone a little slow of understanding. Perhaps it was better for Frodo to think that Sam was slow than to know the truth, that Sam’s wits were dulled by desire for his bunny-clad form. “Now do you think you might get on with it?”

“I-I’ll do my best, Mr. Frodo,” Sam faltered, though he wasn’t at all sure his hands would be steady enough to accomplish the task. Dry-mouthed, he moved close behind Frodo, who was standing rigidly still with his head drooping forward and his hands fisted at his sides, as if he was posing for a statue representing Mortification. 

Poor Mr. Frodo. Sam focussed his attention on the tangle of laces resting just above that mesmerising ball of fluff. The satin laces tied in a crisscross fashion from the neck down and pulled tight to close the back of the suit, and Frodo had managed to do a fine job of snarling their long ends into one giant knot. It would take some time to undo it, of that there was no doubt.

Trying not to think about all that was concealed by the thin layer of velvet, Sam reached for the knot with his fingers, and as he did, his hands brushed against the bunny tail. It was made of many strands of soft white wool bunched together, and even that slight touch caused a jolt of arousal to shoot through Sam.

Oh, he was in trouble, right enough, serious trouble.

Sam drew another deep breath, this one meant to steady his shaky nerves, but it proved to be a mistake; a hint of the rosemary from Frodo’s soap, mixed with the musky scent of his sweat- he must be hot inside the costume, Sam realised- filled Sam’s senses. Sweat popped out on his own brow. He must concentrate, he told himself. Knot. He had to untangle a knot. Right. Get to it then, Sam Gamgee.

He took the tangle of satin in his fingers. “You’ve done a job on these laces, sir,” Sam commented as he picked at the knot with his short nails, trying to free at least a small section that he could use as a guide to undo the rest. 

“I was too impatient, Sam,” Frodo confessed in a low voice, “I tried to undo them with one hand instead of taking my time as I ought to have done.”

“Ah.” Sam had an impulse to thank Frodo for his impatience. Instead he asked, “If you don’t mind me making so bold, Mr. Frodo, might I ask why you’re wearing a bunny costume?” 

Frodo sighed, and his head drooped even lower as if the bunny ears were weighting him down. “I don’t mind, Sam. In fact, I’d say you have a right to know considering the circumstances. It’s for a costume party at Great Smials in two days’ time. Pippin is going dressed as a carrot, you see.”

“A _carrot_? Seems a queer choice for a costume, if you ask me.” The knot was proving recalcitrant; Sam bit his lip and struggled on.

“Yes, well, Pippin found the two costumes in a mathom room at the Smials. What he was doing in the mathom room in the first place is anyone’s guess, and where the costumes came from no one seems to know.”

“And he talked you into being the rabbit to his carrot, did he?” Sam hazarded. He knew Master Pippin fairly well.

“He did. But I thought I’d best try the costume on first, and…” Frodo’s shoulders shrugged. This shifted the white fabric, causing the bunny tail to bob up and down, and the velvet to pull even tighter over those pert buttocks. Sam suppressed a whimper with some difficulty. “You know the rest.” There was a pause, and then Frodo asked, “How are you coming with that knot, Sam?”

“Not so well, sir,” Sam admitted, but other things were coming along quite splendidly. A fine erection was beginning to swell beneath his breeches. If Frodo was to shrug again… “I reckon I’ll have to use my teeth.”

“Your _teeth_?”

“Aye, nothing for it. I’ll try not to damage the laces, sir.” Sam bent at the waist and set his front teeth to the knot, tugging gently at the one place he’d managed to loosen slightly. He could feel the heat from Frodo’s skin radiating through the fabric, and the intoxicating odours of his body swirled around Sam, making him feel giddy. The bunny tail tickled at the bottom of his chin. 

It was sheer torture. 

Desperately, Sam worked at the white satin strands with his teeth, and then, at last, they started to come loose. Thank Eru! he thought fervently. At the rate things were growing, there’d soon be no disguising his condition, no matter how discreetly he rearranged the front of his breeches. He had to finish this and right quick, before Frodo discovered the truth, and thought Sam perverted for fancying him in a bunny costume.

He replaced his teeth with his fingers, and with almost frenzied haste finished untangling the laces. “There!” he exclaimed with relief as the two laces separated at last, “I’ve got the knot undone, Mr. Frodo.” Sam straightened, and dropped the ends of the laces. The satin strands, without any tension to hold them in place, slithered quickly loose from the holes on either side like garter snakes weaving through the grass, and the costume gaped apart, exposing an expanse of flawless white skin to Sam’s wondering gaze. His eyes fell inexorably to the swell of Frodo’s buttocks. The costume had sagged there, too, the bunny tail riding lower, and Sam could see the top of a shadowy cleft. 

That was the moment when Sam realised, to his mingled horror and lust, that Frodo hadn’t a stitch of clothing on underneath the bunny costume. Not a single stitch.

***

“There! I’ve got the knot undone, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, sounding hugely relieved.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Frodo exclaimed fervently. He didn’t think he could have stood it much longer. 

The bunny costume was a tight fit, having been made originally for a hobbit of shorter stature than Frodo. It was uncomfortable enough under normal circumstances, but with Sam standing close behind him, and his deft fingers pulling at the laces, it was sheer torture. 

Each tug caused the fabric to rub against the sensitive head of his shaft and press against his balls, and as he had been half-aroused already by Sam’s mere presence, it had not taken much to complete the process. His nipples had peaked into tight aching buds, and an impressive erection was fighting against the confines of the white velvet. Frodo was very much afraid that Sam would bolt like, well, a scared rabbit if he saw this blatant evidence of his employer’s desire. He might even conclude that this had been some nefarious scheme, the entire scenario staged by Frodo as a means of luring Sam into his bedroom so that he might seduce him.

_Dressed as a giant rabbit?_ All right then, perhaps Sam wouldn’t think it was a nefarious scheme. But he’d likely judge his employer insane, to be aroused under circumstances as absurd as these.

Unable to stand the hot, tight confines of the velvet suit one moment longer, Frodo reached up and pulled the cursed hood with its absurd pink ears down over his head and shook out his flattened, sweat-dampened curls. The laces at the back were now completely loose, and the top of the costume slid down across his chest and shoulders. His erection, freed at last from its tight restraint, sprang out eagerly, tenting the front of the costume. Frodo realised with a jolt of panic that only his arms, still in the sleeves and bent at the elbows, were preventing the costume from pooling about his feet- and he hadn’t a stitch of clothing on underneath, not so much as a pair of smallclothes. He’d got out of the bath and decided to try on the costume before assuming his normal attire. It had certainly never occurred to him…

He heard a harsh intake of breath from Sam, who must have discovered the state of Frodo’s undress. Frodo clutched desperately at the fabric, gathering it tightly at his waist to keep it from slipping any further and completing his humiliation by leaving him both naked and erect before Sam’s eyes.

With what calmness he could manage, Frodo gathered the tattered remnants of his dignity about him, as he’d gathered the costume. “Thank you, Sam,” he said firmly. “You may leave me now.”

“I can’t.” The whispered reply was completely unexpected, and Frodo could hardly believe his ears.

“What did you say?”

“I can’t leave.” Sam’s low voice sounded desperate.

Before Frodo could even make sense of this extraordinary statement, so completely out of character for Sam, he felt the calloused tip of one of Sam’s fingers touch the nape of his neck, and lightly begin to trace a path down the curve of his spine, travelling over each bump and dip, ending right at the top of the cleft of his buttocks, where the crumpled velvet halted its progress. 

“Oh Frodo,” Sam breathed from behind him, and his voice sounded almost reverent, “your skin… ‘tis so soft… softer by far than any velvet,” and then there was a puff of hot breath at the small of his back, and Frodo felt Sam’s warm lips touch him, right where the tangled laces had rested.

The small hairs on Frodo’s back stood on end as if he’d been shocked, while little shivers of exquisite sensation chased each other across his skin. He felt alternately hot and cold, and in his mind was only one thought, _Don’t stop, Sam, oh please don’t stop…_

“I can’t stop,” Sam said hoarsely. “Frodo.”

_He’d spoken the words aloud_ , and Sam had said- had said- _I can’t stop_ and then, wondrously, _Frodo_.

“Sam…”

Hands settled on his shoulders- warm and calloused, real and right, and a thousand times more delightful than anything he’d imagined. “Sam,” he whispered again. The hands glided down his arms, raising goose bumps in their wake, and stopped at his elbows where the folds of velvet were trapped in the crook. 

“Will- will you let go?” Sam asked softly, hesitantly, his hands cupping Frodo’s elbows. “I’ve dreamt of- of holding you like this, in naught but your skin.” 

Without a word, knowing he would do anything Sam asked of him, Frodo opened his cramped fingers, and released the costume he’d been clutching to him. Sam guided the velvet down Frodo’s forearms and over his hands, and then a low chuckle, of all things, tickled in Frodo’s ear, sending more shivers chasing through him. 

“Looks like we’ve run into a bit of a problem,” he said. Frodo glanced down, and gave a shaky laugh. The fabric had fallen only part way to the floor: a large swath of velvet was draped over his erect cock, with only the flared tip of the head peeking out from the folds. 

“What do you plan to do about the problem, Sam?” Frodo asked breathlessly, half-amazed by his own boldness, but at the same time feeling an exhilaration and freedom he’d never known before, even in the days of his youth when he’d sowed his small share of wild oats. This was Sam holding him, Sam whom he trusted more than he’d ever trusted anyone in his life. Sam, whom he had grown to love so dearly. 

“I’ve an idea or two,” Sam murmured, and pulled Frodo back to rest against him, so that the hardness of Sam’s erection pressed against his bare buttocks, burning even through the coarse wool of his breeches. He snugged Frodo about the waist with one arm, and then he reached down and to Frodo’s surprise did not lift the material away, but took a firm hold of Frodo’s velvet-covered cock with his free hand. Frodo moaned as Sam began dragging the soft material up and down Frodo’s shaft, repeating the motion over and over, stroking the sensitive head with each repetition. The sensation was exquisite.

“Oh,” he choked out. “That feels… oh… so… wonderful…Sam…” Sam tightened his grip and increased the pace, twisting his hand slightly with each up and down movement, running the delicate material across the slit at the top. Frodo’s hips began to thrust involuntarily forward into that tight cocoon of heated velvet. 

How did Sam know the precise movements that would best please him? Frodo wondered through the haze of delight enveloping him. His head fell back against Sam’s neck, and Sam took advantage of Frodo’s nearness to nuzzle against his throat, press open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin there, and then to trace the outline of one ear with his tongue. It was too much, this final assault on his senses, and Frodo could feel his climax nearing with a rush and a roar like a river in flood. He thrust one final time into Sam’s hand and came with an incoherent cry, arching like a bow against his restraining arm before slumping limply against Sam once more.

Frodo stayed that way but a moment, however, before twisting lithely in Sam’s embrace, and kissing him fiercely, their very first kiss and not at all the way Frodo imagined it would happen- but better. “If you only knew how long I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured at last, drawing back. “Of us, together. Sam, I love you.”

“No longer than I’ve dreamed of it, Frodo,” Sam replied, and his brown eyes looked suspiciously damp. “I love you, too, me dear; I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

They held each other tightly for a minute, but certain aspects of their situation were making themselves known imperatively to Frodo, the main one being that while he was naked, Sam was still fully clothed. He could feel every button on Sam’s weskit being imprinted on his bare skin, and the buckle of his belt was digging uncomfortably into Frodo’s stomach, and even lower down… oh, but there was no discomfort there, except perhaps for poor Sam. He moved his thigh, pressing hard, and Sam moaned. Yes, definitely for poor Sam. Something would have to be done, and right away.

Frodo’s fingers got busy on some buttons- but they were not weskit buttons. He dropped to his knees, and took care of Sam’s discomfort in the most satisfactory manner.

***

“Do you think the costume is ruined?” Frodo asked around a yawn. He didn’t sound as if he much cared. He and Sam were lying naked on the floor in a knot of limbs that neither had the desire to untangle, and they had not yet worked up the energy to move to the bed. Frodo’s velvet bunny costume was crumpled beneath them, and looked very much the worse for wear. 

Sam located the bunny tail; it was intact if slightly squashed. He shifted his hips and tugged at the section of costume pinned beneath him to free it. 

Frodo saw what he had, and blushed. “Oh, that tail- the most embarrassing part of the entire costume. I wanted to cut it off, but I was afraid I’d ruin the suit.”

Sam looked shocked. “Cut it off? Why, that tail perched atop your bum was one of the sweetest sights I’ve ever seen, Frodo.” He held the ball of fluff protectively against him as if he expected Frodo to whip out a pair of scissors any moment.

“Sam!” Frodo giggled. “You can’t be serious. I looked ridiculous in that costume.”

“I’ve never seen a more fetching rabbit,” Sam said stubbornly, looking as if he was prepared to argue the matter.

Frodo giggled again, and shook his head at the very idea that he’d looked fetching, but he made no objection when, some time later, Sam asked him if he’d mind modelling the bunny costume for him one more time, just so he could be certain.

~end~


End file.
